


A Sea of Madness

by GreyDaze



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anxiety, Dark, Depressed Keith, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 11:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13997445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyDaze/pseuds/GreyDaze
Summary: More like vent fic than anything. Keith struggles with some dark thoughts.





	A Sea of Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, as noted in the tags: This fic is pretty much about depression, suicidal thoughts, and self harm. If anything of this bothers you, or triggers you, or whatever else, please don't read this. I'm not sure if it's super in character because I was sorta imposing my own thoughts into the fic.

Fingers slowly brushed across his ears, cupping them closer and closer until there was no more sound aside from his pulse. Rhythmically pulsing in his eardrums, steadily speeding up as he closed his eyes. Keith sat on his bed with knees to his chest, pressed into the corner of the room. Not his room. Not a bedroom. Just the place he was designated in the castle.  
  
His legs were bouncing up and down, begging him to do something. To run, or hit something. But he couldn’t. Everyone would be in the training room at this time of day and he couldn’t bear to face them now. He can’t keep his mind under control, thoughts flashing viciously into his brain and _lying_. He lies to himself even as his brain calls him out on it, and his brain lies to him just as he knows its all emotion, not truth.  
  
_You’re bad, worthless, and a terrible person_ , his brain chides. It’s not true, he knows. He thinks it anyway. It hurts. _I’m not okay_ , he thinks. His brain reminds him of all the praise he’s awarded. Perfect grades. A talented fighter. Lance is always reminding him of how “perfect” he is. He has to be okay, there’s nothing wrong.  
  
Apathy gets a hold of him now, its icy fingers wrapping around his throat. It doesn’t matter. He’s here, but it doesn’t matter. Voltron can go on without him. The Blade can go on without him. Good grades are meaningless; he only works so hard because he’s afraid that failure will leave him all alone. Ironic.  
  
It hurts- the pain snaps him out of the numbness for a brief moment. His chest feels so tight. Hell, his body has wound itself up like a spring that’s about to snap. Only succeeds in making him more tense, more panicked. His thoughts are drowning him. The knowledge that eventually time will catch up forces him to draw a shaky breath.  
  
How long has he been in here? Someone will come by to check on him if he stays in here all day. He can’t turn it off, but he’s scared that someone will see. Shiro would be concerned of course, but he’d probably look down on him for falling apart. From hiding it. He doesn’t know which, and tries to stop thinking about it. He doesn’t want people to treat him different. He doesn’t want them to think he’s broken.  
  
Keith holds his breath, nails digging in to his head. He squeezes an eye open to gaze at the wall. It’s dull and solid. Empty. He hates himself. He hates this place. He hates that he was born. Abandoned. Doesn’t need anyone. Doesn’t need-  
  
_Stop, stop, stop, STOP!_ He screams in his mind. His hands move to rub at his face, as if trying to scrub away his thoughts. And then he’s biting his fingers, biting _hard_. But it’s not enough and his brain continues on its war path.  
  
What does he even want from anything? He joined the Blade for what… Answers? Did he think it would bring him closer to the mom he never knew? What was the point? And if he’s a paladin, does he expect glory? He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t care as much about the universe as he pretends. All his angry speeches about why they fight are just his sense of justice taking over. He doesn’t want the responsibility. He just wanted Shiro back and safe. He just wanted to stay in the desert where he couldn’t burden anyone.  
  
But it wouldn’t have been enough anyway. Nothing is important enough, or worth it. It’s not even worth fighting his current panic for who knows how long. Sure, eventually this feeling would go away, he’d go back to being numb and do whatever he has to do to for the sake of the mission. Put his feelings away, locked up tight and focus solely on what’s in front of him.  
  
All that’s in front of him now is a wall. He slumps forward, suddenly exhausted. He’d let go of his fingers at some point without realizing. Not bleeding, but would probably bruise. He grimaced. It wasn’t enough.  
  
And then he started scratching his arms, viciously raking his nails across the skin with a newfound rush of anxiety. _Hate. Hate. I hate it. I hate this. I hate myself_. A tear slipped down his cheek. Memories of coming home from school to an empty house flashed in his mind. Foster parents who ignored him. Kids who beat him up. All the times he couldn’t say what he meant to say. Why are words so _hard?_  
  
“I wanna die,” Keith whispers, voice breaking. He thinks of the other paladins, and the Alteans, and all the people he’s met. He feels so distant from them, even when he’s next to them. He doesn’t know how to act, or what to say when he’s with them. He messes everything up. He pushes everyone away. He’s bad.  
  
He doesn’t remember getting up, just noticing that his feet had practically flown him into the bathroom. His fists clenched and unclenched, just itching to hit something. His eyes wouldn’t look in the mirror. Eyes squeeze shut then open. Then close tightly again. He digs a flip knife out of his pocket.  
  
First Keith presses it to his throat. He knows he’d never really do it that way, too slow and probably painful as hell. But his mind goads him on and he lets the tip draw blood. And then it’s at his stomach. Still too painful, not good enough. _Coward_. A knife isn’t any good for this job. What is he doing? He doesn’t care, he just wants to bleed. To give in to the thoughts plaguing him day and night.  
  
A flash of anger passes through him for dragging it on and on impulse he slashes his wrist. It’s a sloppy cut, deep but by no means ideal. It throbs angrily as blood drips to the floor. Coward, he thinks again. Dropping the knife he sits on the edge of the Altean tub and glares at the floor.  
  
He knows he was never serious, but is still frustrated. He’s in a ship full of deadly alien weapons, air locks into space, mysterious chemicals and more. A pocket knife was the worst choice if he’d meant to end it. Not today. He’d been back from the Blade for too long. If he wanted to do it, he needed to distance himself further. So it wouldn’t hurt them as bad.  
  
He stares numbly at his arm, bags beneath his tired eyes. It’d need stitches soon. Arm felt cold. He’d have to clean up all the blood before someone could see. He was so tired of it. Of hurting himself. Of feeling hurt. Of all the nothingness. He envied everyone’s smiles.  
  
Keith’s eyes meet his reflection, and he flinches. His skin is sickly pale, with a purple shadow under his eyes. His hair is greasy and unkempt. Just a little longer. It’s only a matter of time till he has the right opportunity to give up. He looks forward to the day he doesn’t have to feel tired anymore. With a heavy sigh, he gets up and heads for the first aid kit.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm always really mad that the depression fics are mostly about Lance :I (I don't dislike sad Lance fics, I just wish there were more sad Keith fics) I get that people like making happy characters have inner turmoil, but Keith just screams emo v_v I just wish I was a better writer for these kinds of things.
> 
> Side note: I don't endorse Keith's unhealthy coping mechanisms.


End file.
